Sleep
by lickitysplit
Summary: On Elizabeth's first night in the Boar Hat, the Dragon Sin of Wrath has trouble falling asleep. Oneshot.


**Summary:** On Elizabeth's first night in the Boar Hat, the Dragon Sin of Wrath has trouble falling asleep.

 **A/N:** Welcome to this oneshot, that is a birthday gift for my wonderful friend, TheGreatLlamaFish! This is actually a result of one of the 82621982 head canons we have discussed and I'm so pleased to bring this to life. Happy birthday my dear!

* * *

Meliodas was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was absolutely exhausted, the good kind of tired that made your muscles sore so when you stretched them out it was delicious, the kind that made you look forward to bed because you knew that the sleep you would have that night would be simply amazing. He was clean from a warm bath and wearing fresh, loose clothing, the smell of soap and shampoo usually just as soothing as the sun-dried sheets on the bed and the light, cool breeze that drifted in the window and made the curtains sway in the moonlight.

Yet sleep eluded him, and there was exactly one reason why: Princess Elizabeth of Liones was now, at that very moment, asleep exactly eight and three-quarters feet above him.

He sighed and raised his arms, folding them under his head. The ceiling needed some dusting, he realized, as his eyes traced around the edges. A spiderweb hung in one corner, and for several moments he watched it, his chest rising and falling with each breath, until his eyes drifted closed.

 _Elizabeth is upstairs_.

Instantly his eyes jerked open. "Stupid brain," he groaned, rolling over onto his stomach. Almost angrily he puffed up his pillows before curling around them. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep, but after counting to twenty he gave up.

Outside, the world was in deep shadow, and he looked at the stars that dotted the sky. Meliodas had become adept at reading the stars and could always tell exactly where he was in Britannia by the constellations. But he had been so busy running the tavern and keeping after Hawk and trying to gather information he hadn't even noticed how close he was to Liones. _Stupid, stupid_ , he thought. He was a wanted criminal, and was traipsing through Liones like it was nothing. The others certainly wouldn't be here, so why was he?

Meliodas shifted again and sighed. It ended up being a good thing, he supposed. Who knew how much longer Elizabeth could have gone on, walking through the countryside in a suit of _armor_ of all things. What if she had arrived at someone else's doorstep? There were plenty of unsavory creatures around, men who wouldn't think twice about taking advantage of a beautiful and unconscious young woman. A shiver went through him at the thought.

But she didn't, she fell through _his_ , and the meaning behind that coincidence was not something he was ready to think about just yet. So Meliodas closed his eyes and thought instead of that instant when the helmet had fallen off, and the startling silver hair had come spilling out. He huffed a laugh against the pillow to remember the shock of seeing her, and the instant denial that had welled up inside of him when he saw it, absolutely _refusing_ to listen to his brain as he watched her sleep and heard her story. As if he could deny her, ever. _Idiot_.

A moment ticked by, then another, and Meliodas relaxed. He had fought a Holy Knight today, the first time in a _long_ time he had to call on his power. Again he thought about this feeling he did not even know he had missed. It was like stretching a muscle he had forgotten he had, and it being the first time in almost a decade, he was actually tired from it. But a good tired, the kind from a long day of hiking or swimming, where you can sink into the mattress and forget the world and fall asleep in seconds…

He moved his head side to side, stretching his neck a bit. It had felt so _good_ to move today, to use his powers, to be a knight. Serving as a Holy Knight had always been his favorite job, after bartender: he was good at it, and there was plenty of work, and he felt good doing it too. It was easy to use _Full Counter_ on that ridiculous mustache, and the adrenaline rush along with the fight made his shoulders and arms a bit sore. He grinned to himself. It felt good.

Yet no matter what he tried, Meliodas was _awake_. With a growl he pressed his face into the pillow, muffling the sound of him cursing. Then he turned his head and looked at the door, the door that would lead him to the hallway to the stairs to the third floor to her room and—

"Nope," he scolded himself firmly.

 _Sixteen, sixteen_ , he reminded himself, saying it over and over like a spell that would erase his longing. Because Elizabeth was even more beautiful than he had remembered. The last time he saw her, she was in armor, the pink hair dulled by the rain. His stomach turned a bit with that memory, and he leaned up on his elbows and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to try to erase it.

Instead he thought of silver hair, not pink, and the blue eye that peered at him with curiosity and fear and delight. When the Holy Knight had declared her to be Princess Elizabeth, forcing him to acknowledge the truth and turning his world completely turned upside down—his own fault, why would he even try to convince himself there would be _another_ Elizabeth with silver hair and curves to make his heart pound wandering around Britannia—the truth hit him instantly. It had been so easy to deny it when she laid in the bed, and he jokingly had grabbed her breast. He had convinced himself it was another girl, because he was such an _idiot_.

 _Sixteen, sixteen,_ he thought again, groaning. She should _not_ be allowed to look so beautiful at this age. What happened to girls being awkward, being late bloomers? His palms dragged down his face as he flipped over to return to his back, kicking off the covers that were now too hot. Her body might be sixteen, but _Elizabeth_ was as old as he, and when she came back to him, it would be like it always was.

But she wasn't, not yet. It was inevitable with the curse, and Meliodas already loved her; he had even before he knew her identity, that old familiar _protect protect protect_ drumming like a chant inside of his veins as she cried and talked about searching for the Seven Deadly Sins. It was like a song he knew by heart, so all he had to do was hear a few notes, and immediately he could pick it up and continue on. Yet he didn't want it, not yet. _Not yet, please, she's only sixteen._

Only sixteen. Which meant she was still innocent. He hoped she was. Not that it would matter. He would love her anyway. But probably she was. Definitely. Maybe. What did sixteen-year-olds get up to, nowadays? He thought back to his own youth and quickly shook his head. She was a princess. She probably hadn't even been kissed yet. Probably. Even though she was gorgeous and sweet and if anybody had dared to even—

 _Shut up, stupid!_

Meliodas closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his forehead, trying to remain perfectly still. He could do this. He needed to ignore the fact that the woman he had loved for three thousand years was eight and three-quarters feet above him and _sleep_. Tomorrow they would head out to continue looking for the others. He knew that something had been brewing in Liones, since even his friend Zaratras was killed. But if Elizabeth was right, something even worse was going on than just politicking, and he needed to get to the bottom of it stat.

But _now_ it was too cold without the blanket, so in a fit of frustration he got up and shut the window. Meliodas stood with his hands on his hips, looking out. No dawn yet, thankfully. No sounds outside or inside. Just his own breathing, and that's when Meliodas remembered: Elizabeth snores.

At once he is straining, trying to hear anything from upstairs. It was never a loud thing, just a soft sound that always made him smile. If he woke up, he never needed to turn over to see if she was still there. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at the memory.

He caught sight of his reflection and gave a huff, turning and stalking into the washroom. In a moment he had the lamp lit and then he stood over the water basin, pouring in some water to splash on his face. "Get a grip," he muttered to himself. Even if he _could_ hear her breathing from eight and three-quarters feet below, it didn't matter anyway. It wasn't going to help him get any rest, that's for sure.

His hair was dripping a bit as he grabbed a towel, drying off as he walked back into the bedroom. "Now sleep," he commanded himself, "I mean it."

Tossing the towel aside he climbed back into the bed, pulling the blanket with him. But now with the window closed it was too hot, so after debating on whether or not to open the window back up, he decided to compromise and pull the blanket over him but keep one leg out. Turning to his side, Meliodas sighed again as his eyes drifted upwards to the ceiling.

Could she be awake, just like him? What if Elizabeth was tossing and turning in bed too? After all, it was an unfamiliar place, and with a twinge he remembered, an unfamiliar person downstairs. He had tried to put her at ease the rest of the evening, showing her around the Boar Hat and heating up some food later (something he had picked up from town, _not_ his own cooking) before showing the yawning princess to her room. He had watched with some amusement as Elizabeth aired out the blankets and pulled the sheets tightly over the mattress, nearly forgetting to leave until she said goodnight, blinking at him expectantly.

As he left, he had looked behind him briefly, and saw her carrying a towel into the bathroom. Knowing that she was going to bathe, that _Elizabeth was in the bath at that moment_ had made him hurry downstairs and turn the cold water on in his own shower.

He had stepped in fully clothed, pressing his forehead against the wall, finally alone for the first time since seeing her again. It was overwhelming, and he heaved one deep breath after another, shivering with cold under the spray until he couldn't stand it anymore and had to turn the hot water on as well.

Slowly he had peeled off his wet clothing, and then stood once more under the spray, taking in great gulps of air. Meeting her was just as startling as it always was, her eyes and voice and sweet demeanor calling out to him like a beacon. Whatever Fate was, it knew exactly how to tempt him, designing the Supreme Deity's only daughter as his own private fantasy, her body what he craved, her spirit enough to match his, her heart enough for them both. Fate knew what it was doing when it created Elizabeth; and now, Elizabeth Liones was the closest replica he had known in one hundred and seven times meeting her.

The shower had done some good, and now Meliodas pulled the pillow against him, holding it tightly against his torso. Maybe she was having just as much trouble as he was, up to open and close the window, kicking off the blankets, trying her stomach and back and sides as she moved restlessly in the bed. Elizabeth was a light sleeper, too; maybe the sounds of the tavern and the steady _thump_ of Hawk Mama's steps were keeping her awake. He closed his eyes and imagined it was her, pressing his forehead on the soft fabric as his fingers dug into the plushness.

Memories shouted at him as he purposefully willed them away. So many times he had held her, just like this, their bodies curled around one another, her head on his chest as his cheek rested on the top of her head. He could almost feel her, could almost pretend, and it made him swallow uncomfortably around a searing flush of his neck.

 _Damn it_. Damn Fate, damn his father, damn her mother, damn this curse. Damn whoever killed Zaratras and sent him away from her side, damn whoever had sent her running from her home and into his tavern. Damn himself for falling headfirst all those years ago, for not turning around and running when he had the chance, for being so _stupid_ as to love someone so perfect that he gave up everything without a thought. Damn her for being perfect, for being everything, for laying upstairs eight and three-quarters feet away and snoring the way he always loved and not knowing the absolute torture it was to lay in bed and hold a pillow tightly and pretend it was _her_.

"I need a drink!" he said loudly. Meliodas shoved himself from the bed, walking over to where he had tossed his clothes. He was dressed in loose shorts and a sleeveless shirt, fine for sleeping, but he didn't want to be caught downstairs half-dressed. She was sixteen, after all.

But when he went for his clothes, he froze. He had given her his shirt.

Elizabeth didn't have any clothes, and he had assured her they could buy some in the next town. Then she had stammered out something about a nightgown, and even though he had uniforms, he had nothing else. So Meliodas had headed back down to his room, taking the stairs two at a time, and fished out one of his clean button-down shirts for her to wear to bed.

His mind raced at the thought. The bath was difficult enough, the thought of the beads of water on her skin and the smell of her washed hair and the damp feel of her smooth skin was enough to send him into madness—but she was wearing his shirt.

Closing his eyes, he could picture it. The first few buttons would remain undone to give her plenty of space. Then the ones that would close the shirt around the soft swell, her flesh pressing against the fabric, the buttonholes stretching just a bit to accommodate how very different her chest was to the one it had been made for. The hem would hang against her thighs, right at the top, barely covering her rear or her hips, so if she bent over or turned a certain way, he was sure to catch a glimpse of her body and the place in between—

"I need a drink!" he nearly choked, rushing for the door. Then he cursed himself silently in his head, because instead of heading downstairs, he went up.

 _Just for a second_ , he thought to himself. _Just to see_. Just a glimpse was all Meliodas needed, and he reasoned that once he had his look and saw that she was indeed asleep then he could take that image back downstairs and finally rest.

His feet were bare, making a soft sound on the wood as he climbed the steps. Outside of her door he took a deep, cleansing breath. He wanted to steady himself and not wake her. _It would just be a second._

Slowly he opened the door, being careful not to let the _click_ of the handle sound. The room was bathed in moonlight, and laying undisturbed on the top of the bed was Elizabeth. He sighed in relief to see her hair shining and hear the soft little snore he knew he would. _There, you had your look, now_ go.

Instead, he stepped inside. Meliodas creeped closer, smiling to himself to see the blush on her cheeks. Her lashes were dark and heavy against pale skin, and he wondered if they would be long enough to brush on his face when he kissed her. She slept on her side, and as his eyes travelled down her silhouette he was pleased to see he was right about the buttons. The collar stuck out a little where the opening at the top pulled slightly, and he could easily see the shape of her body under the white fabric. It was just as perfectly curved as he remembered, and he gave a quick thanks to Fate to see her slender thighs pressed together, because he had also been right about the length of the shirt.

She rolled then, her arms slipping under the pillows, and Meliodas could hardly breathe. Once he was next to the bed, he reached out a shaking hand towards her, unable to stop himself even as he cursed in his head: _stop, what are you doing, you'll wake her, go downstairs, she's sixteen, what if she_ — _what if she remembers_ —

He brushed her hair back, tucking the strands behind her ear, not daring to trace his finger along the shell, or touch the cheek he knew would be warm and soft. With an uncomfortable swallow he simply stared, her shoulders moving with her steady breathing. Then he sat down on the floor, drawing one knee up, resting his cheek against it as he watched her sleep. If he couldn't escape the past tonight, Meliodas decided to give in and enjoy the present.

* * *

The morning light was warm and faded when Elizabeth opened her eyes. Slowly she rolled to her back, looking up at the ceiling of the room that was now hers.

She had been so exhausted the night before, asleep on her feet when she was finished with her bath, not even remembering climbing into bed. With a satisfied sigh she stretched her arms up, glancing down when she felt the unfamiliar scratch of her clothing instead of a soft nightgown. Elizabeth smoothed her hands down the front, her fingertips tracing around the buttons that held the shirt closed over her chest. She blushed a bit to think this was _his_ shirt, the amazing but strange man she had met yesterday: Meliodas, the Dragon Sin of Wrath.

He was not what she expected at all. On the short side, with wild hair she was itching to brush and the worst cooking she had ever tasted. He had an odd sense of humor too, always teasing and grabbing her in ways that made her squeal and blush furiously. She didn't get the jokes, but the fact that he took her in and saved her—he threw himself in front of an attack to save her—Elizabeth trusted him, without question.

Wondering what the day would bring, she went to sit up, but pulled up short. At the foot of the bed sat Sir Meliodas, sound asleep. His legs were limp, stretched out on the floor in front of him, and his head rested against the mattress, blond hair spilling over the cover and his mouth opened slightly. Her eyes widened as she watched his chest rise and fall with steady breathing, her gaze taking in the pajamas he wore before darting furiously to the side.

She could feel her cheeks on fire as she wondered what to do; but then her eyes travelled back to him, and the princess smiled. Carefully, as not to wake him, she sat back down on the bed, positioning herself so she could see his face. Somehow watching him was soothing, and she sighed contentedly as she gazed at him. Elizabeth felt her heartbeat slow as she matched her breathing to his. This felt right, even though she could not explain why, so she spent the rest of the morning enjoying the peace of the tavern, admiring the man that was sure to be her future.


End file.
